


Oh, Poor Aetulia!

by sonicsora



Category: Brütal Legend
Genre: Crying, Fluff, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hugs, Humor, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-14
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:40:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28076352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sonicsora/pseuds/sonicsora
Summary: The Doom do what they do best, mourn. They mourn for Aetulia, for Ophelia, for themselves. Ophelia does what she can to comfort her troops.
Kudos: 3





	Oh, Poor Aetulia!

**Author's Note:**

> Written on request. Something silly and doom related.

The bride dabbed at her eyes under her veil with a handkerchief, her voice wobbly and discordant as she tips her head back. “Poor Aetulia! She must have been so scared and alone.” 

Her breath stutters in her partially open ribcage sending bits of dust flying out. That is as much warning as anyone gets before the Bride starts crying bodily. Her whole body shakes with each sob and jagged cry for Aetulia. 

Her tears set off another Bride and Rat Gut into an uneven crying fit. The Rat Gut clutches at his belly cooing through tears at his babies. The rats churn under the skin, making it bulge and grow taunt as the Rat Gut blubbers discordantly about Aetulia. 

The second Bride blubbers into her hands, throwing her veil back to not soak through it. Ophelia was surrounded by crying undead, and it wasn’t all that unusual given her queenship. She draws closer to the crying display as the group gathered around the edge of the sea weep openly together. 

Ophelia has grown used to the cries of the mourning, cries of the dead. Ophelia between battle patrols to check on her troops comes with calming the undead with a careful word and touch. A reminder she can protect them, that Aetulia would never abandon them. She keeps them grounded in life and death equally.

Some small part of her finds it comforting. There is familiarity in checking on _her_ people. A lingering sense from her days at Ironheade before they cruelly threw her away.

The queen of the doom draws to a stop next to the group, there are a few mumbles of greeting mixed amongst the weeping for Aetulia. Like flowers turning towards the sun, they shift towards her.

"P-P-Poor Aetulia! How lonely she must be even now!?" The first bride calls out, which makes the collective crying even worse. 

Ophelia gives a faint amused sound at the tearful declaration, reaching out to rub the other undead woman’s shoulder. “She suffered far greater than any should.” She agrees trying not to smile and failing immensely. There is humor and fondness there for the undead gathered around her.

There were many more wallowing bellows and cries over Aetulia around the campfire as Ophelia had to hug every undead member of her army currently gathered to try and soothe their tears. She is their grounding force, even with the sea itself just a few steps away. They could so easily sink into Aetulia's embrace themselves, but instead, they seek Ophelia. 

The Queen Resides, The Queen Protects. A common mantra mumbled by the undead. Ophelia intends to keep to that. The Drowning Doom is _hers_ and hers alone. Aetulia murmurs, speaking from the sea itself, soft comforts that Ophelia does her best to pass onto the undead gathered together mourning. 

“It’ll be alright, she loves us all equally,” Ophelia murmurs, running a hand across the bride's back soothingly. “Her suffering wasn’t in vain.” Her words offer at least some comfort given the crying tapers off in places. 

The Drowning Doom need her as much as she needs them. Just as much as Aetulia needs her.


End file.
